


Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

by DaphneDaisy



Category: The Beatles
Genre: One Shot, Original Character(s), Smut, leather jacket era, young beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:31:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaphneDaisy/pseuds/DaphneDaisy
Summary: One shot! Early Hamburg days OC steps out of her comfort zone for the boys. Smut. But like my first time writing smut...To be continued for sure just wanted to get the first half out there!!





	Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

Bad luck comes in threes and yet here I’ve got four. Four pairs of legs fit tightly into dark jeans; four sets of lips twisting up at the corners in a flirt; four pairs of eyes outlining my silhouette. That’s four more mouths I’ve got plans to meet.   
Like a rising snake my shoulders and hips move, countering each other in a steady rhythm set by the bass. Each glance they send my way, every lick of their lips, and most especially every time they look at eachother and then to me my belly button sinks a bit more. I could leave this club before their set ends and go home, call my own bluff, but every moment I remain in this spot raises the stakes more.   
As the tallest introduces their last song I begin to lose my nerve. It’s not too late, I could still leave. They’d be disappointed but there’s no chance they’d follow. He sends me a wink and the soles of my shoes melt to the floor, holding me down. I wonder if they’ve noticed me unease or if my face has remained as confident as when I first stepped on the floor. I wonder if they’ve seen my type before, lonely and caught up in a momentous current of bravery.   
The other guitar player presses a chord from the strings, watching as I become entranced by the way his finger massage the string into the fret board. I can almost feel his fingers pressing into my skin the same way, subtly pushing back and forth, while his other hand strums lower; together the two coax music from his instruments. Throughout their songs I’ve let myself become distracted many times by the way their hands move with such confidence up and down the bodies of their guitars. I’ve only been caught twice, but this makes thrice.   
My eyes find a mocking grin on the boys face, one eyebrow quirked up and his lower lip caught in his teeth. That could be my lip, I think, that his teeth sink into next. Those three mouths that work so well together to harmonize might work just as well together on me.   
I turn to hide my blush for a moment, needing to look at anything other than the stage to clear my head. I hear the song coming to close and know I have to make up my mind, stay or go. I picture the hands that curve around the fretboard wrapped around my head board instead, the lips that brush the microphone around my breast.   
Turning back to the stage I feel empty all at once, they’re gone. The stage is cleared off all but the kit and amps, still emitting a soft buzz. A set of stairs lead offstage to a door, and before I can make the decision my feet find their path and my arm reaches for the knob.   
I hesitate as the cold night air breaks over my arm. I could go home, stepping out this door seals the deal. I know I won’t turn back once I’ve begun, this is my last chance. I remember the frustration of turning around to find them gone, the return of loneliness, and press on. A trail of smoke beckons my outside from the crack in the door. They’re waiting for me, wondering if I’ve got the nerve. To step outside is to abandon fear.   
I pull the door towards me and turn to close it behind me. The coolness of the night licks up my legs hungrily and I fill my lungs with it. One dark boot pushes between my feet and suddenly my back is warm from the body pressed against it. Damp with sweat, the body presses my into the door that I realize is locked from the inside. One way, only. Hot breath pours on my neck over my shoulder, his lips following suit to my ear.   
“I didn’t think you had it in yeh,” I recognize him as the frontman, “But Paulie here knew better.” As he spoke his hands had taken my own and now had them pressed to the wall by my shoulders. I feel his bulging pants press into me and still I want him closer. I swivel my hips like I had on the dance floor and push back into him making him chuckle.  
“She knows how to play.”


End file.
